Page 45 of Conflicted Lies

We’re starting to draw attention. One person’s lip actually pulls up in disgust, and I fucking hate the scorn my piece is receiving. There’s a reason why I haven’t shown this side of me to anyone. I know I’m an outcast, and although it doesn’t bother me, facing the judgment of others terrifies me.What if my parents look at me the same way?

“Stop it. Just fucking stop,” I grit out, not at all appreciating the attention. These people are nothing. Insignificant. But I can’t help feeling like the walls are closing in on me. This is my darkest secret. And I willingly chose to share it withhim. It’s not meant for others. I try to push away all of the negativity. “You’re upsetting the customers.”

He suddenly glances around at our surroundings as if he never even noticed anyone but me. He smirks unapologetically as he takes a seat across from me and puts the piece in the center of the table. I shoot a brief glance in its direction, again pretending to be horrified. His arrogant smile doesn’t slip as he removes his jacket and sets it gently over the statue. A wave of relief washes over me at narrowly averting having this part of me exposed in the middle of what is one of my few safe spaces.

I’m furious by how quickly my play to toy with him backfired. I was enjoying taunting him, and yet he so easily flipped it on me.

Asshole.

“My partner and I stopped by my apartment this afternoon. And can you guess what was on my bed, wrapped up with a perfect little bow?”

“My underwear?” I reply with an eye roll.

“You didn’t wear any that night,” he points out, and I can’t entirely hide my smile. Thoughts of that night immediately come back to mind. This man—this beast—who coaxes out the vilest of my fantasies is sitting across from me as if this is the most normal of conversations. “It was another black box with a glass statue inside to join the collection. I even upped my security after the last delivery, and yet low and behold, there was a glitch for twenty minutes this morning. I wonder who has the ability, or perhaps the connections, to do that.”

I fix him with a bored look. “There are many mysteries to life. But if you don’t mind, your work is very boring to me, especially considering how poor of a job you seem to be doing. Didn’t I recently see the body count of this supposed serial killer is now up to nine? Do you really have time to be harassing me?”

His smile is anything but friendly. He sighs and removes his black glasses, and the dark circles under his eyes are obvious. He’s exhausted. And I know for a fact he’s been working these cases. He’s done multiple interviews asking anyone to come forward with any information they might have about any of the murders. I’ve watched every single one. To be honest, I find his work life quite interesting, but I’ll never admit it as much as I won’t admit to having Ivy tap into his security system. I pay her for it, as well as paying her to keep quiet about it. Ivy hasn’t asked any questions, but she most certainly knows there’s more to the detective and me than I’ve told her and has most likely tracked it back to Braxton without further asking for answers I’m not willing to offer. Whatever. I’m certainly not asking her father to do it since he and my father are so close.

“My book, please?” I nod to it, and he hands it over. As I grab it, my fingers brush his. It’s like an electric shock. I take in a sharp breath, then snatch the book from him because I don’t want him to see any signs of how he unsettles me. But, fuck me, do I want his hands all over my body again.

He’s studying me, that smirk creeping up again as he begins to eat the cold remains of my pancakes. He’s eating like a caveman, which most likely means he hasn’t eaten all day. “Would you like me to order you more?” I offer.

He raises a brow at me but doesn’t bother answering. He just continues to eat my leftovers. We sit in silence, and I can’t help when my gaze flicks to where his jacket is covering the ominous statue. I can’t believe he actually brought it with him. I never thought he’d do that. Perhaps I was too confident about my little secret.

He should be thankful that he gets to admire them, let alone hold them. Actually, I don’t think he realizes how lucky he is. He could never afford any of my sculptures, but in my opinion, these are the most priceless pieces I’ve made.

I focus on my book again and read another two pages before he speaks because Lord forbid when a woman remains silent and ignores a man to where he has to entertain himself.

“This needs to stop,” he warns, pointing the fork to his jacket.

“Okay…” I say, flicking to another page.

“I’m serious. I know it’s you, Hope. I may not have the proof, but it’s you. You’re digging yourself deeper and deeper, past a point where Mommy and Daddy won’t be able to get you out.”

I still don’t look up from my book. “If you say so. You’re starting to sound a lot like you care, Detective. It’s very unlike you.”

He’s watching me in that intense way that he does, setting my skin alight. It’s like a caress that demands my attention, and I know the moment I give in, I’m a goner. So I refuse to be put under his fucking spell.

I saw Hawke briefly since our last altercation. Although he’s promised to remain silent, anyone who knows him well enough knows he’s a liability when it comes to keeping secrets. But if he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll step in. He even questioned me as to how successful we might be at getting the detective to accept a bribe. That’s very fucking unlikely. And if we try, we’ll just be tipping our hand. And besides, I have no interest in playing that kind of game with him.

I don’t want anyone else playing with my toy, so I shut Hawke and the conversation down.

My prey. My game.

Even if my family might chastise me for it later, I know they love me. We protect one another.

I look up at him when he grabs my cup of coffee and takes a sip. I know he does it to test me, but I just put down my book and bring my hands together on top of the table.

“Do you have family?” I ask.

He seems surprised by the question, but he masks it within seconds. “Yes.”

“So why don’t you spend time with them?”

He raises a perfect brow. His tattooed hand comes to rest on the table as he leans toward me. I don’t like how little space he leaves between us, but I don’t move from my position either.

“And how would you know if I spend time with them or not, Shortcake?”

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